


The Road South

by rhye



Series: 41 Nights [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Badass Arya, Cunnilingus, Dead Cersei Lannister, Dubcon Kissing, F/M, Fix-It, Motherhood, Mutual Pining, Pregnancy, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/pseuds/rhye
Summary: Brienne takes the Glover men and rides South from Winterfell. Lady Sansa has a plan.





	1. The Road South

BRIENNE

The Glover men are packed before nightfall, but she knows they must wait and leave at first light. That night, Lady Sansa asks Brienne to share a meal in private. In the lady’s solar, Sansa drafts a plan for her.

“Do you think this will work, milady?” Brienne asks.

Sansa forces a stony smile. “No. But it’s better than Ser Jaime’s plan, and he has forced our hand.”

*****

Brienne leads the men out when the sky is still dark, only a hint of light on the horizon. Podrick has been quiet and careful around her. He’s riding next to her, her second in command, and if she has to abandon her mission she will leave it to him. It works better with her, Lady Sansa believes, but they both trust Podrick should she be unable to continue.

And that really does bring her shame. She had been so intent on bringing home an heir, so sure Daenerys would win the war, that she had thought the fighting over. Now she is afield again and fighting constant nausea, pissing behind every tree. She brought Pod into her confidence, and wishes she hadn’t. The looks at her with pity.

She rides the men hard. The first part of the plan depends on it. They scowl and grumble. She curses her need for frequent stops. She throws up over her horse’s shoulder. Oddly, her men grumble less after this. She supposes they are content knowing she is as miserable as they are, riding on three hours of sleep.

On the third day, her outriders come back with news. “A lone man on a horse, about an hour’s ride,” they say.

“Bring him to me in chains.”

They fail. Such a simple command, but they had trained alongside Jaime in Winterfell, had seen him with her. They ride back to camp with him, smiling as though they are bringing their commander a gift. She thinks she might be sick again.

“Ser Brightmont. Would you say you are one of the best knights Deepwood Motte has to lend the Lady of Winterfell?”

Ser Brightmont, one of the _few_ nights out of Deepwood Motte, laughs and answers, “If you say so, ser.”

“I do not say so,” she snaps. “I gave you one order. One. And you failed me. Lieutenant Rodston,” she calls over her should. “Relieve Ser Brightmont of his command and chain Ser Jaime’s ankles. Unless of course you choose to disobey me as well.”

Jaime’s face is clouded and he says nothing, but he is watching her. Everyone stills for a moment. A horse knickers. She worries her men will rebel. Then Lieutenant Rodston walks forward and takes the chains from Ser Brightmonth’s saddle bags. He pulls Jaime roughly from his horse and binds his ankles.

“Take his hand and throw it in the river,” she commands.

*****

JAIME

She has him chained to a stake in the ground, like Catelyn Stark, but with the unerring decency to put a tent around him to keep out the worst of the weather. He’s failed, he thinks. He’s failed at so many things. It’s never felt quite so bad as this, though.

He wonders if she is going to take him back to Winterfell to stand trial. To die where he was happiest. They pack the tents in the morning. She commands him to be tied to his saddle, and his horse to be tied to hers. She tells her men she will not risk his escape. His ankles are still bound, so he is to ride side saddle. He is a bare ten feet from her, and it feels like he has never been further away from her than he is now.

Then they set off South. He doesn’t ask her about it because he doesn’t know how to speak to her any more. She’s like a stone statue. _I did that to her,_ he thinks. He wishes she were taking him to Winterfell and to death.

She stops to relieve herself no less than twelve times that day.

At night, they set up his tent. There’s a guard on him around the clock, but he can leave his tent to piss. Another luxury Catelyn Stark denied him.

Each time he does, he looks to her tent. He imagines he’s in there. In his long hours in the saddle, he goes into his mind and imagines he is still there and this is all a dream. A nightmare he has made with his own two hands. He remembers the way she had held the gold one in her lap. It’s upstream in the river now. He wishes he could drown with it.

In the morning, while he is pissing and watching her tent, he sees her stumble out and wretch into the grass, in naught but her tunic and tights. She is bracing one hand on the ground and shaking. And that’s when he knows.  


He is playing a part, he thinks. Sneering at his gaolers is second nature to him. He tries to get a rise from them. But sometimes he cannot play the part.

“Is she eating well?” he asks his guard of the day-- an Erwyl Jostford of Sea Dragon Point.

“Not your business, Lannister.”

From then on, he can’t pretend. He needs someone to listen to him, and no one will.

“Fetch Ser Podrick,” he begs one guard. _Begs_.

“He won’t want to talk to you,” the guard says.

“I don’t care what he wants. _Please_.”

They move South over two more days before Podrick Payne enters his tent. Jaime has never seen Pod look so wary and drawn. The boy-- a man grown now-- is naturally joyful. _I’ve done that, too._

“Pod,” Jaime gasps in relief. “Look, I _know_. Just, make sure she drinks enough water. And bread, keep dry bread handy.” Pod doesn’t answer and leaves the tent.

The next day on the road, though, Pod rides close to his Lady Ser and carries extra water skins. When they stop, he pushes them at her. Twice she turns to him and he passes her stale bread. Jaime sighs in relief.

Her eyes pass his, and something in them is not hate. She sees him watching her. She knows that he knows.

After ten days like this, she comes to his tent. He doesn’t move, sitting on the floor and gazing up at her, and he thinks this is where he belongs, at her feet. How had he ever dared to look her in the eye like an equal?

She is iron, and she nods the guards away.

“Were you not going to tell me?” he asks her.

“You were going to leave without telling me,” she answers.

“If Lady Stark came to you for information, you would have none.”

“Lady Stark is thrice as smart as you. She knew why you left before you did yourself.”

He squinted up at her. “Did she, now?”

“How did you imagine you were going to get into the Red Keep? Just walk in through the door?”

“It’s always worked before.”

“You’ve been gone too long for your sister to trust you, in truth if she ever did.”

He has not heard her speak so boldly before about Cersei. “I have to try,” he whispers, and he hates himself for sounding like a mewling child about it.

“Lady Arya trained at the House of Black and White. She killed every male of house Frey at their dinner tables. Why do you think you can do what she cannot?”

He watches her for a moment. So Sansa had not figured it all out after all.

“There’s a child,” he answers. “Cersei’s pregnant. I did not ride South to kill her. Nor to set her on the throne. I have to try to save my child. Would that you had stayed in Winterfell and mayhaps I could have saved them both.”

Brienne was stone again, then nodded. “Cersei will die. If Daenerys and Arya fail, then I will do it myself.”

Jaime is taken aback. “Did Lady Sansa give you that command?”

“Lady Sansa released me from her service.”

He swallows and looks down, then back at her. “This is how you would spend your freedom? Killing my _sister_? What about Tarth? What about the heir?”

“I thought the war all but won. I thought peace on the horizon. I was wrong, and I regret this babe. But it does not change what I must do.” She hesitates. “But I will not kill her while she carries my child’s sibling. On that you have my word.” She leaves the tent.

*****

Jaime cannot sleep that night. He knows he should feel more shame, but seeing her face from where he sat on the floor, it looks too much like when he was between her thighs. His ankles are chained, but not his hand. He takes himself and spills his seed on the ground. His gaze lingers at his right wrist. His gold hand is in the river somewhere, he remembers. He feels its absence as keenly as he had his real hand. His heart is torn to pieces. _I did this to her_. He cries.

*****

She comes to him again the next day, this time with the first food he’s been given since they started South. He eats greedily. Between mouthfuls he asks, “How do you intend to get into the Red Keep if you think I can’t?”

“On the contrary, I think you can get in. I am counting on it.”

“But you said--”

“You tell me to my face that you planned to save your child, but in truth you would have died with Cersei. You have no plan.”

“And you do?” he spoke the words more harshly than he meant to.

“I am not good at politics. And you are worse than you suppose. Luckily Lady Sansa is thrice--”

“As smart as me, yes, I heard the first time. Maybe you should fuck _her_ instead.”

“I would have rather fucked a horse in the field than you, Ser.” She leaves the tent.

He groans and tosses the rest of his food to the muddy ground. “Fuck,” he hisses. Why does he always have to open his traitorous mouth?

*****

The next day, his horse is tied to Erwyl Jostford near the rear of the train. After they make camp, it is Podrick who brings his food. He looks furious, but he doesn’t give Jaime the silent treatment this time. He throws Jaime hardtack, which lands in the mud. Jaime will eat it anyway. Then Podrick says, “The next time you make her cry, I’m going to take your other hand.”

Jaime believes him.

*****

It is four days before he sees her up close again. She comes into his tent and speaks.

“Riding off alone into the moonrise does not count as a plan.”

He stays silent, not trusting himself to speak to her.

“When we arrive in King’s Landing, you will say we imprisoned you in Winterfell after the long night. For crippling Bran. You escaped in the night, and I took the Glover men to capture you. Lady Sansa has authorized me to keep you as a hostage in the coming battle. She has heard what happened to Messande. Anything that happens to her brother, will also befall you, as Cersei’s brother. If Cersei's army injures Jon Snow, we will injure you likewise.”

“Cersei doesn’t _care_ \--” he protests.

“She’s not meant to care,” Brienne snaps. “You will escape from us. One of these inept Glover men will chain you improperly, and you will escape back to Cersei. Lady Sansa believes Cersei _will_ welcome you back. Not for love, but because she will want to see you beg for forgiveness. You _will_ grovel. And…” She inhales. “I grant you permission to sleep with her if that is what is needed to gain her trust.”

“I’m not going to _sleep with her_.” The thought disgusts him. He doesn’t even have his golden hand. He can’t touch her without it. She wouldn’t let him, and he couldn’t anyway. All he says is, “She won’t sleep with me without the hand.”

And then he hears what she said. _I grant you permission_. She still sees his body as hers. Hers. _Hers._

“Wait,” he says, mouth opening. “Has this all been a ruse?”

“Cersei no doubt has spies.”

“Then she’ll know the tale I tell her is a lie.”

“She will know you are afraid to tell her that you stayed with me in Winterfell of your own volition. And she will know that I am willing to hurt you for the pain you caused me. And she _will_ expect you to sleep with her to prove your loyalty.”

“You know all this because Sansa Stark surmised it?” He’s skeptical.

“And what did you surmise, ser? You had no plan.”

“My plan was for _you_ to be safe in Winterfell, dammit.”

“Then your plan has already failed. You only have my plan.”

“Brienne--”

She turns to leave.

“Wait, you never told me. How am I to let you in to kill her?” Even as he says it, he knows he will not do it. He won’t let Brienne within a hundred yards of the Red Keep if he can help it.

“Don’t patronize me,” she snaps. “I know you plan to keep me out. Luckily this part of the plan is not up to you. We have Lord Varys.”

She leaves.

*****

But it is a ruse, isn’t it? He has trouble sleeping again, and the next day his horse is tied to her horse. She is starting to lose her food less, he notices. That’s good.

“Couldn’t I at least be unchained while riding?” he asks. “My arse is sore from sitting side saddle and I think my balls might fall off. I know you would mislike that.”

She glowers at him.

“You kept it, I assume.”

“Kept what?” Oh yes, he has her now, he thinks. If he can draw her into conversation, into any conversation at all, he will win her back.

“The hand.”

She is silent for a long while. Then she answers. “I went back for it in the night.”

“I knew it.” He exhales. This has all been a ruse. Thank the seven. “How many weeks?” he asks quietly.

“When I bled, it wasn’t… Lady Gilly said it can happen sometimes.”

“No blood since, then?”

She doesn’t answer, and he knows that means no.

“And the horse isn’t an issue?” He remembers when she feigned a poor stomach to prevent a ride. But she’s ridden for days now without much rest.

“Is your babe all you care about?” she spits.

“ _Gods, no_ ,” he says. “I just thought… well, it seems a safer subject than most.”

“When is your sister due to have her child?”

He tries to count backwards. “Maybe three months hence.”

She nods. “The sooner the better. I will try to take her prisoner, but Daenerys…”

“What will you do with the child?” he asks. This conversation feels like landmines.

She watches him warily. “I admired Catelyn Stark a good deal, but Lady Sansa confessed that Lady Catelyn mistreated Jon Snow. Many are concerned that their husband’s bastard means betrayal. That does happen, no doubt, but… it needn’t be that way.”

He swallows hard. Too much, it’s too much. She’s offering to take in his child, and in the same breath she’s offering to marry him.

“Brienne.” His voice sounds choked to his own ears. Even now she surprises him. She is so much _more_ than anyone else he has ever met, so much better. He should know that by now. He can’t bring himself to talk to her any more. She is so much better than he deserves.

*****

BRIENNE

He’s looking at her again as if he just discovered her, and something in her snaps. She wants him viciously. To be this close day after day, to hear him reject Cersei’s advances before she’s even made them, it’s torture.

And that is the day her resolve breaks.

*****

JAIME

He hears her tell his guards. She says, “After your supper, bathe the prisoner and bring him to my tent.” His heart flutters like a newly wedded maiden.

When they do as instructed, she has her guards leave until it is Jaime, Brienne, and Podrick. Not entirely what he was expecting, but--

“Pod,” she says, “Remove Ser Jaime’s chains. You’re on watch tonight.”

He nods and does as she commands him.

And then Jaime is standing before her, washed clean, without chains. It’s too much and he falls to his knees. “Forgive me,” he whispers. “I love you.” A breath. “I love you.” A long, daring look. “I love you. Answer me Brienne!”

She doesn’t react except to say, “You repeat yourself, ser.”

“I need to say it. I need to say it once for every moment I forced myself not to. I took the most lovely thing I had ever seen and I ruined it. I broke it.”

“What is it you broke, ser? I am not broken. I am the commander of a unit and the heir to an island kingdom.”

He nods, dropping his head. Her maiden’s heart is gone. The most beautiful thing in the world, and he would undo this if he could. He would let Cersei turn King’s Landing to ashes. What were the lives of half a million people aside Brienne’s maiden heart?

“When I said it, you gave me naught but silence,” she whispers.

“I know. I’m sorry. I--”

And then she is on her knees with him, and she grabs his cheeks, looks him in the eye. It’s an echo of when he left, but now he is returning. She shakes his face. “I love you so much I could kill you for what you did to me. How you hurt me.”

He watches her face, and he sees the moment. She breathes out and her lips open with the effort and-- it’s not gone. He sees her heart, shy and lovely in her eyes. She’s simply hidden it a little deeper. He captures her lips in a kiss that feels like breathing.

“Don’t you ever leave me again,” she whispers.

“Let me capture her. _Please_.”

“No. I would spare you the ridicule. The curses. You deserve better.”

He deserves nothing. This is entirely a situation of his own making. He has brought Brienne into this mess because he is too selfish to keep her away. He presses his face to her shoulder and cries great, gusting sobs. Her arms circle him, strengthen him.

“We will get through this, Jaime,” she whispers. “I know of no two stronger people than we two. But we must work together. We must _stay_ together. _That_ is what the Starks have taught me above all else.” She wipes the tears from his face. “And then I will show you the granite cliffs of Tarth, and you shall watch your children splash in the tide pools and chase each other with sea stars.”

The sobs wrack him until he is spent, and he falls asleep at her feet.


	2. The Red Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Cersei dies and everyone else lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Braime shippers, who deserve better, and for Brienne, who deserves the world. And maybe for Jaime and Nikolaj (the literal captain of this ship), who both did nothing to deserve the D&D treatment they got.
> 
> Dubcon Jaime/Cersei, Graphic violence against Cersei. Sorry not sorry.

The days blur. He continues to sleep in a tent, chained and staked. Brienne brings him all his meals, and sits on the ground next to him while he eats. They talk, but it’s not as easy as it was. The specter of why they are here hangs over them in these moments.

Every few days, she has him bathed and brought to her tent unchained. Those nights, she puts Podrick on watch, strips off his clothes, and then her own. They kiss, and fall into her camp bed to remind each other of what they are. He sleeps best those nights, off the cold ground and pillowed by her warm body (for he always seems to end up lying in her arms), but he knows she does not sleep at all. She always wakes him up at the first birdsong to dress him. She and Podrick escort him back to his tent in the dark and chain him again and he hates it.

He has loved in secret for many years. He knows _how_ to do it. He’s trained himself well to school his face, his motions. Considering this, he thinks it should be easier. Rather, it’s harder than it has ever been. The bright taste of freedom he knew in Winterfell-- the freedom to kiss his lady in full view of all the noble lords-- has ruined him for secrecy. Every moment of the secret turns his stomach. _I could have stayed in Winterfell._ It’s a heavy knowledge he carries with him, hoping that all of this will come to some good end.

During the days, Jaime is tied to a horse that is tied to Brienne’s horse. Only she and Podrick are close enough to hear him, and he takes advantage of that situation. He has riden long distances with many people in his life. He finds Brienne’s silences more entertaining than the japes and ribald tales of others he has ridden with. He can see her ears blush when she pretends she cannot hear him. When he speaks obliquely of things they’ve done in bed, Podrick turns to give him a shocked look, and Brienne adjusts herself in the saddle, and he feels almost free again. Sometimes he makes japes at the expense of the Glover men, who are growing less incompetent under her command. Ser Brightmont has been reinstated to his position, and seems intent to make up to Brienne by treating Jaime with merciless spite. It amuses Jaime, probably because it has the opposite of its intended effect. Brienne grimaces whenever Brightmont draws near.

He learns things about Brienne as well. She had not spoken to him much on their last trip through the Riverlands, except to growl about his moral deficiencies. Now, though, she seems to see the landscape and the wildlife. She points out unusual birds, and smiles fondly at a doe they catch sleeping in the brush. This is, he thinks, what remains of a little girl who used to dream of princesses. This is the Brienne of spring.

Once, she stops her horse abruptly.

“Ser?” Podrick stops and asks Brienne. Jaime’s horse runs into the back of Brienne’s.

Her wide eyes turn to Podrick. She turns backwards to see Jaime and then back to Podrick, and in slow motion he sees her lift her hand to her belly.

“Ser?” Podrick repeats.

“It’s quickened, then?” Jaime asks. She looks at him again, her mouth agape. He is smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks.

“Ser?” Podrick’s question is directed at Jaime this time.

“Quickened. The babe starts to move. You are well along, milady,” he says quietly, and not without awe.

Brienne’s gaping mouth doesn’t close, and her hand stays on her belly while her long, long legs direct her horse to keep moving.

*****

That night, she has him brought to her tent, and he pillows his head on one of those towering legs and sees it. It’s naught from most angles, but from here he knows he once could see the buds of her breasts, and now he sees only the flesh of her belly. He lays his hands over the warm place beneath her navel. He knows he will not be able to feel anything yet, but in his heart, he does.

Yet the taste is bitter, too. It reminds him of another babe, one he loves no less for being planted in the wrong womb.

*****

When they arrive in King’s Landing, no one tells him anything for three days. Then Brienne comes to his tent in the dead of night and straps on his golden hand. He likes to think she’s had it close by her these many nights.

She speaks quietly. “You’ll escape tonight. I’m meeting Varys in a cave by the sea, and he will get me into the Keep. I’ve… things have been happening while we were on the road. Daenerys and Jon Snow have turned on each other. Varys is loyal to Snow. Your brother to the Dragon Queen.” She sits up straighter. “Lady Sansa backs her... backs Jon Snow for King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

He’s not understanding what she’s staying. “Ned’s _bastard_? What claim does he intend to press? Even Cersei’s is better. If you fight for Jon Snow, you will die.”

Her eyes look everywhere but at him. “He is not a bastard,” she answers. “Ravens have flown to every corner of the kingdom. The King has come to reclaim his throne. He is Aegon VI Targaryen, and the only ones who have not sworn to him are Casterly Rock and Dragonstone.”

It takes him a minute. He’s afraid he might be gaping like a fish, but he says, breathless, “Lyanna?”

She nods.

He doesn’t get time to assimilate this new information, though. She has more.

“Varys still owns more than half the servants in the Red Keep. I’m going to wait in the black cells and--”

“No.”

“He has a passage--”

“I said, no. Seven hells, the place is full of pestilence. Stay under the kitchens at least, or with one on Varys’ spiders.”

She hesitates and then nods. “I will stay _somewhere_. Once the child is… old enough… the servants will let me know when I can move in.”

He knows she mean, move in for the attack.

“Jaime. Look at me.”

He does.

“I will not let you kill her. I don’t want her blood on your hands. Your task is going to be the babe. Do you understand?”

He wants to argue, but how? Is he supposed to beg Brienne to care for the babe as if she is a nursemaid and not a warrior? She can fight better than he can. She is twice the knight he ever was.

“You may… have to earn her trust,” Brienne continues.

“I understand.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s possible this is the last time he will see Brienne. Cersei doesn’t belong in this conversation, even if that’s what’s brought him here.

“Do you trust me?”

Jaime nods.

“No, look in my eyes.”

He does.

“I have not told you all of the plan. I can’t. But you _must_ trust me.”

His voice cracks. “I trust you.”

She nods. He can tell she is fighting back emotion. She unchains him stiffly, and they both stand.

“Ser,” she says, her throat tight, “dying for your sins is easy. Living with them requires courage. You are not a craven.”

He moves forward, giving her a kiss as feral as their first. “I promise,” he whispers, before he steps out into the night.

*****

It is as easy to get into the Red Keep as he thought. The guards capture him and take his hand, but they do not bring him to Cersei. Instead, he is taken into the Black Cells and left.

He wonders, without Brienne and Sansa Stark, would this have been the end of the plan? Would he have died here, in this rat- and spider-infested hell? He doesn’t know or understand enough of Brienne’s plan. If Varys has the servants and Brienne the knife, why is he needed? He’s not. He knew that already. He’s superfluous to the plan. _She said your task is going to be the babe._ He doesn’t know the first thing about caring for a newborn, but neither does Brienne, and he’ll be damned if he hands an infant over to Varys.

*****

He doesn’t know how much later it is-- though he has slept twice, pissed four times, and been brought food once-- when the guards come to take him to Cersei. He stands between four guards as they climb to the residence. The guards bring him into a bedchamber he has never seen before. It is airy and bright and smells of oranges. And there, in its center, is Cersei. She is flanked by The Mountain. Her belly is massive. Her eyes cruel. He hears the words of Olenna Tyrell. _She is a monster._

The guards force him to his knees, and Cersei glares imperiously down at him. “Leave us,” she tells the guards, and even The Mountain leaves.

“So,” she says, “You are back.”

“They imprisoned me after the battle--”

“Spare me,” she spits. “I know you took up with that whore from Tarth. Tell me Jaime, how did her cunt compare to mine? Was her flat chest so appealing to you? Should I summon The Mountain back to fuck you, since you love towering monsters so much?”

He swallows, then smiles. “Gods, it’s Winterfell, the most boring place in the known world. And fucking cold! I was drunk more often than not. I would _have_ to be to mount that… beast. But she _was_ warm. You know she is nothing to you.”

She smiles. “Did you get a child on her?” She rubs her belly. “I’ve had conflicting reports.”

He frowns. “I’m not even terribly sure she has the right parts for that.” Cersei does seem to be warming to him a bit. He continues. “She has hair everywhere. You couldn’t even believe. Even the tops of her feet are hairy as a bear’s.” In his mind he sees Brienne’s feet, glistening pale and hairless as a babe’s, the strangely delicate grace of her long toes. Beneath her armor she is every bit a woman, but he thinks he would love her even if she _did_ have hairy feet. He would shave them and tickle her, and she would laugh her loud, loud laugh until he made her cry tears of joy. “Her cunt smells like a wet dog,” he finishes.

“Do you miss the smell of mine, Jaime?” her voice is sultry. Then her hands grasp her skirts and she lifts them. “Euron takes me every day. He loves that I have _his_ child in me. What do you think of that, Jaime?”

He is face to face with her womanhood now. He can see she is glistening with Euron’s spend, and he thinks he will be sick. “I think he is poor at math,” Jaime answers.

She laughs, and it is delicate and lovely. Then she says, “Clean my lord husband from my lips.”

His blood turns to ice in his veins. She has never done this, not to him. Humiliation, then. That’s what she wants from him. But he is not without ideas. “Would you not prefer I wash and shave first? I haven’t been so long as to forget your preferences. And I’ll need my hand,” he holds up his empty wrist.

She drops her skirt with a curse and recoils with disgust. He remembers when it brought him disgust as well. _Not anymore,_ he thinks. _This is me, and this is the body I have now. I traded this hand for my lady’s safety and I am not ashamed._

She looks out the window for a moment, then nods. “Tomorrow.” With no more said between them, she leaves his new room.

Minutes later a mouse-haired serving girl with a long face comes in with a tub and his hand. She fills the tub it with water. She has a dull knife as well, and while he bathes, she shaves him. He is half expecting she will slit his throat instead. There is something dangerous in her eyes and he wonders if she was in the Red Keep before he went North.

“What’s your name?” he asks her in between her strokes.

“Cat,” she says with a thick Dornish accent. Then she leaves.

As he dries off beside the fire, he catches his reflection in a looking glass that’s been left for him. The man he sees looks younger, and golden. This man looks like the twin to Cersei. This man looks like he has loved Cersei all his life. He holds the glass closer and thinks, _This is me, and this is the face I have now, but it does not change my heart._ It is _not_ the reflection of someone who belongs to Cersei. It will only ever be the reflection of someone who belongs to Brienne.

He thinks of Cersei and knows he will not be able to escape so easily tomorrow. She will ask again. She needs to see him humiliated. He doesn’t know what he can do. He could fight, but there’s the babe and the Mountain. He can try to talk his way out, but she may take it the wrong way and decide to send him back to the Black Cells. Or else he can do as she asks.

_You are not a craven._

He’s lathed Cersei’s womanhood with his tongue many times in his life, even when she had tasted of Robert. He knows he can do it again.

*****

BRIENNE

In the flickering light of the potato cellar, a cauldron of boiling water spits onto a low fire. Brienne carefully ladles water into a pewter tankard. She looks down at her hands. _They are stained green like a Tyroshi dyer._ Mayhaps her hands will always be green. She lifts another herbal bundle and shreds it into the tankard, sitting back to watch it seep.

The door slams open and hits the small mountain of potatoes they share their rooms with.

“Hush,” Brienne whispers.

“Seven hells, are you making that stuff again? The whole place _reeks_.” Arya Stark wrinkles her nose.

Brienne sits forward. “Any news?”

“They moved him up from the Black Cells today.”

Brienne doesn’t know how to feel. It’s a relief, because their plan doesn’t work if they can’t get to Cersei when she’s alone. It also makes her itch. He’s close to her again. _Mayhaps he will leave me for her._ She forces the thought from her mind. It’s not true. She knows it’s not, but a lifetime of doubting herself is so hard to overcome.

Arya sighs and leans back. “I bathed him.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow on Arya.

“Oh relax. I didn’t _look_. I just… I can’t understand you. You are so much better than he is.”

“We can’t help who we love,” Brienne answers before sipping at the foul tasting cup of green broth. She is nervous down to her bones. She picks up the scroll from Samwell Tarly.

“You’ve already memorized it,” Arya says.

“It’s important.”

Arya takes out her a dull blade and begins to clean it. Brienne watches as long dark-gold hairs slip down and off the blade. She aches with jealousy.

“They moved him to a room with rat holes,” Arya says. She’s referring to the system of secret passages that riddle the Red Keep.

“That’s good,” Brienne says, swallowing more acrid green water and opening Sam’s scroll just to be sure they’re not forgetting anything.

*****

Jaime wakes in a comfortable bed with the sun high in the sky, and he immediately reaches over to see if he is alone. In truth, he is half asleep, and when he wakes up enough to understand that this is the Red Keep, he thinks he is looking for Cersei. Then his memories fall into place.

He dresses and waits. There’s nothing else he can do. And then she comes to him. It’s late afternoon by this time and she says almost nothing as she dismisses the Mountain and lifts her skirts. He watches her, trying to understand her motivations, but they keep slipping through his fingers like rain.

“Well?” She prompts. “Or would you prefer to return to the Black Cells? You never had trouble laying hands on me before. Has that beast warped your brain?”

 _Un-warped it mayhaps._ He smiles, and puts effort into it. “I am simply marveling at how radiant you are when with child.”

She returns the smile, and it’s not unkind. “Come, Jaime. I don’t want Euron’s foul stench on me a moment longer. Your touch always makes me feel better. Show me what love feels like.”

To her, evidently, love feels like forcing your brother, who is also the father to your unborn child, to lick your husband’s spend from your folds under penalty of being locked away in the Black Cells. _Sweet sister, you never understood love. Not even when I would have moved the world for you, and now my love for you is drained into the seas._

But he could never speak his mind to her, not really. So instead he locks his eyes on hers, kneels before her, wraps his arms around her thighs, and gets to work.

In his mind, though, he is anywhere but here. Jaime has always been good at going away inside his head. Once it was to Cersei he ran, but this time when he closes his eyes, the scene is different. He is in the ocean, and the waves make him dizzy. They splash in his mouth, and he aches to spit the salty water out, but knows he needs to swallow it instead. On the beach, two boys play in the tide pools, darting back and forth.

“I’m king of the castle!” One shouts.

“I’m King Aegon the White Wolf!”

“Then I will be Princess Arya the Nightslayer.”

“You can’t be a princess, you’re a boy.”

Jaime laughs at their antics and another wave forces water into his mouth. He blinks to see that one of the boys is running towards him.

“Papa, papa,” the boy shouts. “Look what Arthur found.”

“Give it back! Mama, Gally took it from me.”

Jaime can see it is a dead fish. He can smell it from here.

He had not noticed before, but his lady is under a canopy with another woman. “Galladon,” Brienne says sternly, and Galladon throws the fish at Arthur, hitting him square in the chest.

And suddenly they are gone. Cersei is yanking him back by his hair. His face feels sticky. Cersei drops her skirts and leaves the room, and he is sitting on the floor alone. It takes him a long time to stop shaking. The servant girl from yesterday comes in and leaves food. She doesn’t speak and he doesn’t move. He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t remember deciding to sleep.

But sleep he must because next he knows he is waking up on the floor and it is another morn.

*****

It doesn’t stop. Once is not enough it seems. She comes each afternoon or evening. Never at night. Always dripping with fresh come. Always for the same reason.

And he forgets to dread this, because each time it is not Cersei he sees, but Arthur and Gally wrestling in the surf or yes, indeed, chasing each other with sea stars. He comes to see that the woman under the canopy with Brienne is a wet nurse, and she and Brienne each hold a tiny child, and he knows they are twins without being told, _his_ twins. He thinks if he can get out of the battering surf, he can see his children. His daughters-- he somehow knows this too-- are still too new to the world to understand how terrible it is. But he knows he cannot fight the waves. Somehow, he knows everything depends on it.

It always ends the same way as well, though sometimes Cersei will slap him instead and snap at him for something he did between her legs, though he never has any idea what it was because he was never truly _there_. He’s getting better at the after part, though. He eats the food, and the girl-- Cat-- brings him water to bathe his face. He manages to find the bed. Sometimes he can’t sleep because he’s shaking, but mayhaps that is getting better too.

*****

BRIENNE

Brienne knows there is something Arya isn’t telling her. Arya sharpens her Valyrian Steel knife almost obsessively, and Brienne understands. It seems all she does anymore is pace, drink green sludge, read Samwell’s instructions, and sharpen Oathkeeper. Valyrian Steel doesn’t lose its edge, but she and Arya both polish and sharpen like they’re afraid their blades will disappear if they don’t. Arya, at least, has something more to do. She goes into town to buy more herbs. She tracks the movements of all the castle guards. She knows where the Mountain goes when Cersei is in with Jaime. She is in contact with Sandor Clegane. Arya is even working in the kitchens and learning the histories of all the women there. But whenever she returns from Jaime, Arya looks troubled, and that perhaps is the most discomfiting.

One night, Arya looks up from her sleek blade and says, “Are you really going to go to Tarth and be some lady? Won’t you be _bored_?”

Brienne watches the younger fighter. “I am the lord’s daughter, and will one day take his place, at the side of my Lord Husband.”

Arya groans. “You sound like Sansa used to. Life isn’t a song.”

“What I mean is, the rules will be ours to shape. I need not do anything I wish not to do.”

“What if Ser Jaime won’t let you do the things you want.”

“He will.”

“But what if he won’t?”

She grins at Arya. “Then I will kill him. I can best him in a fight.”

Arya snorts a laugh. There’s a moment of comfortable silence before Brienne asks, “Is this about Lord Gendry?”

A shadow passes over Arya’s face. “He’s asked me to marry him. To be the Lady of Storm’s End. I don’t give a rat’s ass about Storm’s End.”

“You are yet very young,” Brienne answers diplomatically. “I could not fathom it either at your age. With time, I began to yearn for home. For peace. I’m tired of war. I don’t mind fighting, but I’m tired of the dying. I’m ready for spring.” Her hand moves of its own accord to the small life growing inside her.

“How did Ser Jaime propose?” Arya asked.

Brienne looks up. “He didn’t.”

“He didn’t? But you said you’d be living with your Lord Husband and I assumed…”

Brienne sighs. Arya is indeed young. “For me and Jaime… we do not talk half as much as we should. But we read each other better than most. Many things have been unsaid between us, and yet understood.” She hopes it is understood at least. An icy finger of doubt touches her brow and she tries to shake it off.

*****

JAIME

The first time Cersei comes to him at night, he thinks he is dreaming. She does not make him clean her now, but instead she kisses him, and he kisses her, and he’s not sure if it’s easier or harder but at least the room is dark.

Once, he forgot that he sleeps without his golden hand these days, and he touches her hair with his handless arm. She recoils and leaves without a sound. He curls himself possessively around his naked wrist. _This_ , the thinks, _This is Brienne’s. Cersei senses it. That’s why she fled._ He knows it’s not the truth, but it’s what he chooses to believe.

These nights, though, are the only time he gets an update on the war. Apparently the Dragon Queen tried to burn King’s Landing, and Jon Snow killed her. There is only Snow and Cersei, and neither has a dragon, but it matters little. He knows King’s Landing has no food, and the Iron Fleet is destroyed. Snow’s siege will work, and sooner rather than later. The smallfolk are like to rise up and rebel, to turn to Snow. How long before some little servant, someone like Cat with her dangerous eyes, tries to kill Cersei?

*****

ARYA

Arya is pacing. Brienne is trying to keep her body strong by lifting sacks of potatoes. Finally Arya snaps. “I think it’s got to be tomorrow.”

Brienne stops. “Are you sure? The babe--”

“Haysle says she guesses the babe will come within a fortnight.” Haysle is the woman in charge of the Queen’s food. “And the smallfolk of the city are restless. Tomorrow night is the new moon. Clegane things they will take the opportunity to storm Visenya’s Hill.”

“They cannot harm us in the Keep.”

“No, but it will change Cersei’s habits, the habits of the guards, and we haven’t got another month to wait for another new moon ourselves. These potatoes may soon be the last food left in King’s Landing.”

“The babe--”

Arya snaps at her. “The babe is nothing to me. That is _your_ plan, a plan Sansa made for you and the Kingslayer so you can play lord and lady. I am going for Cersei tomorrow night.”

Brienne’s mouth sets in a straight line. She nods. “I will support that if you give me your word you will re-read Sam’s letter.”

She and Arya stare for a long, hard moment before Arya says, “What if I don’t promise to save the babe? One less Lannister in the world seems a good consequence of acting now.”

Brienne raises her chin. “I am no longer bound to you or your sister. Ser Jaime knighted me, and he charged me to protect the innocent. That includes unborn babes, regardless of their houses.”

“You would fight me?” Arya asks.

“One of us would lose,” Brienne answers, “And then the plan would fail.”

“I don’t need you for my part of the plan.”

“Then you best hope you win.”

As Arya stares her down, Brienne reminds herself not to blink. It is akin to sharing a small space with a wild wolf, and she knows any sign of weakness would be taken as a sign of defeat.

Then Arya shrugs and sheaths her knife. “I don’t need to re-read the letter. I remember it well enough.”

*****

JAIME

The dark is inky tonight as he and Cersei trade kisses. They are almost tender. She tastes of childhood and summer. He can almost forget why he is here. Mayhaps he does until he hears the sound. It’s the sound of a wall opening. Cersei doesn’t hear it. Jaime thinks for a moment to move so that he is on top, shielding her body. He sees a small form in the dark. She is noiseless. Then out of the wall comes another, larger one. For a fleeting instant he thinks _The Hound?_ but then the shadow moves, and he recognizes how it moves.

This is not right, he thinks to himself. The babe is not born yet. This was not the plan. But he remembers her words. He remembers that he had said, “I trust you,” and meant it with every bone within him. So he locks Cersei’s legs under his, and wraps his arms around her waist sos he is trapped.

Then the small shadow is on top of Cersei, and he can see her. He thinks at first it is the servant girl-- Cat-- then he sees that it is Arya Stark. _She trained with the Faceless Men._ He should have known it sooner. Then the Valyrian dagger-- _that one_ \-- is at Cersei’s throat. _No,_ he thinks, _the babe._ His eyes slip past Arya to where Brienne is standing in the dark, and he sees Brienne shake her head. He doesn’t know what it means, but he holds Cersei tighter. _I trust you. I trust you. I trust you.”_

Arya leans to Cersei’s ear and whispers, “The North Remembers.” 

Cersei’s eyes widen, and then Jaime is choking as thick torrents of hot blood flood his mouth and eyes. He feels himself being pulled off the bed, and then Brienne is trying to clean his face. He thinks he might be crying, but who can tell? The room spins. _The babe._

Brienne turns him so his back is to Cersei, and holds him steady so he doesn’t fall. He feels like a damsel in distress, Brienne his knight. He’s trying not to swoon. And then he hears it-- a feeble mewl. He spins to see Arya Stark in the dark, her dagger gleaming with blood and starlight. She’s holding a bloody babe, and in front of her Cersei is cut wide open. He wants to be sick, but the babe is starting to cry, and that’s when he remembers that his task is to see to the babe. 

Brienne is already pulling a shirt around him and lacing up the front. She is taking the babe from Arya and pushing it inside Jaime’s shirt, tying the stays tightly. Jaime holds his gold hand against the small body. It is still mewling like a kitten. _Arthur_ , he thinks. 

And then Brienne is pushing him down the stairs and into the wall. 


	3. Stormlander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Cersei's death, Brienne becomes her child's mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are not enough mothers in science fiction and fantasy. Most die as a way to advance the plot of their children. Brienne's experience as a non-gender-conforming first time mother is informed by my own.
> 
> Somehow Jaime and Brienne are almost never together in this chapter but it is still fluffy like cotton candy because they are constantly thinking of each other.

The stairs descend endlessly, snaking behind walls and within floors. Jaime cannot hear Arya behind him, nor see Brienne ahead. But he is not alone; his babe is alive against his chest. He will raise this one without Cersei, just as Cersei raised the other three without him.

Suddenly, there is light, and the passage ends into a narrow hallway. Jaime follows close to Brienne. His teeth chatter in a way he knows from battlefields-- shock. The narrow hallway broadens and Jaime recognizes the passages as those behind the kitchens.

Brienne opens a door to a small room. The room is hot and smells of fresh earth and rotten cabbages. A cauldron bubbles over a fire. Brienne dips a rag in the boiling water and shakes it to cool before handing it to Jaime. He holds it, confused, until she takes it from him and starts to wipe his face. The rag comes off red. Cersei’s blood. How can he be alive if Cersei is dead? She always said… but most of what she said was lies. He lets Brienne clean Cersei from his face.

Arya slips into the room carrying something bloody and limp. She begins pouring hot water into a basin and mixes in various other vials of liquid. Jaime sees that the things she holds is made of flesh and he turns away. _Arya trained with the Faceless Men,_ he remembers.

Jaime is still fighting down bile when Brienne stops wiping his face to unlace her own shirt, and Jaime cannot understand. Then she unlaces his, and he thinks, _Now?_ But she does not touch him, instead pulling the babe away from him. He had not even realized he had been clutching the babe with his gold hand.

He sees the child more clearly in the golden firelight. Its eyes are screwed up tightly. Its small body squirms. It reminds him of nothing so much as a newborn kitten.

“A girl,” Brienne says softly.

 _A girl?_ That makes no sense at all. _His name is Arthur, and I’ve seen him in my dreams._

Brienne lifts the babe-- a girl!-- to her flat chest. The child’s mouth opens and its fists beat the air, and Brienne puts the child to her breast.

Jaime feels the air leave his lungs. He had hoped and then known Brienne would welcome his bastard into her home, but he could not have guessed it meant welcoming his bastard to her breast.

The babe coughs, and yellow milk splashes from the corner of her mouth. Brienne gasps, and he wonders if she is hurt, but when she looks up at him, her eyes are glowing.

“It worked, then?” Arya asks from somewhere behind Jaime.

Brienne nods and clutches the child to her.

“’Course it did. You were drinking that smelly green shit like your life depended on it.”

Brienne shakes her head. “Not my life. Hers.”

“What’s her name, then?” Arya asks. She is still working, rolling something with motions that remind Jaime of kneading bread, but he refuses to look. 

Brienne looks to Jaime. “Did you want to name her after her mother?”

Jaime understands the question, but balks. To name the child Cersei would be to ensure people are cruel to her all her life. He shakes his head.

“Joanna, then. Was that not your lady mother’s name?”

“Alysanne,” Jaime speaks, his voice cracking.

“But, I--”

“It’s a good name,” he answers, “A Stormlander name. For that’s what I want her to be. Alysanne Storm.”

It is the name of one of Brienne’s sisters, the one who lived almost a year. He has not forgotten a scrap that has been told him of Brienne.

She nods, blinking away tears, and looks at the babe who is drinking from her body. They watch together silently. This is Brienne’s child now; _their_ child. He pulls her to him and the three of them feel strong together.

*****

BRIENNE

She makes Jaime finish washing off the blood and inwardly curses Arya for being so utterly violent, so uncaring, as to kill Cersei while she is still in Jaime’s arms. He will not soon forget it, she knows. But at least they are all alive. They make their way through the passages once more to a cave on a cove of Blackwater Bay. Here, they are to meet Sandor Clegane and Ser Davos to escape the Keep by boat. Instead, they find only Ser Davos. Arya nods stiffly and bids Brienne farewell-- Arya’s part in the Red Keep is not over. Ser Davos navigates Brienne, Jaime, and Alysanne up the Blackwater in darkness to the shore on which Jon Snow’s forces are camped. Among his forces, he has prisoners-- the Unsullied and Dothraki that refuse to surrender are under guard in a yard. Some few have agreed to fight for Jon Snow in exchange for passage back across the narrow sea.

She and Jaime are brought to a tent, and inside sits Sansa Stark. She rises. Brienne bows. “Lady Sansa.”

Sansa nods. “Lady Brienne, Ser Jaime. Is this the babe?”

Brienne turns the child for Sansa to see. “Alysanne Storm.”

Sansa smiles at this. “Cersei once told me she loved no one like she loved her children. It gives me satisfaction to see this child taken from her, and loved just as well by someone better.” She touches the child’s head gently.

“Ser Jaime. I am asking Lady Brienne to take the babe to Tarth immediately-- before the Red Keep surrenders and people have the chance to become suspicious. But I need you to stay.”

“Stay?” he asks sharply.

“You know King’s Landing better than I, and now that your child is under my protection, I know you will be a man of your word. Otherwise, it would be a shame should your child never know her father.”

Brienne frowns at the cold threat in her lady’s voice.

Sansa continues. “I need someone to help me organize the small counsel again, and to help the people of King’s Landing with the transition. I need someone to guide my Lord Husband.”

“Your Lord Husband?” Jaime asks.

“Jon and I are to be wed in the godswood of the Red Keep.”

Brienne is shocked, but Jaime nods and says, “A good match.”

Sansa tilts her head. “Something else you should know. It was your brother who betrayed Daenerys and allowed for us to capture her troops peacefully. He poisoned Drogon.”

“Is he… Where is he?” Jaime asks.

“He is to be given Casterly Rock and the title of Warden of the West as his reward.”

“Good, I don’t want it,” Jaime answers. “He was always better suited to a lordship.”

“If you do not intend to be a lord, Ser Jaime, what do you intend to be?” Sansa asks him, her chin held high, already a queen.

“A father,” he answers without skipping a beat, and Brienne’s chest burns with love for this man, with a deep need to see him father his own children. Jaime had once believed himself the Warrior and Cersei the Maiden of Spring. _Jaime is the Father, the just executioner._ And from somewhere inside, Brienne feels a woman’s courage stir-- a thousand generations of mothers at her back, some queens and some Wildlings and some Dothraki, others Lysene, all the Mother. _Like me_.

And now she will have to be parted from Jaime again, and it’s a painful thought.

Jaime is watching her, seeming to share that thought. “When must they leave?” he asks, unable or unwilling to turn away from Brienne to speak to Sansa.

“Now, I’m afraid. I need to get them out before morning.”

Jaime is watching her, and she him. She hopes she can memorize his face.

“A septon!” he says. “There must be a septon around--”

“There is not,” Sansa says, and belatedly Brienne understands why Jaime asked after a septon. But she is also glad there is not one here. Jaime still has Cersei’s blood in his hair and under his fingernails and she does not want her wedding to be tangled with Cersei’s death in Jaime’s mind.

“We will be safe on Tarth,” she assures Jaime. She takes his hand and presses it on her mostly-flat belly. “And you will be safe here under Lady Sansa’s protection.”

He blinks slowly. “Goodbye, my lady.”

“Goodbye, Ser.”

He smiles. “Goodbye ser yourself.” He kisses her once, and then Brienne leaves the tent with baby Alys. She does not look back. She needn’t. She will see him soon.

*****

JAIME

At first light, Sansa does him the courtesy of reminding him that his sister, whose blood he still has under his fingernails, is dead.

“Nevertheless,” Sansa adds. “You will see her alive today.”

“I understand,” he answers. And he does understand. They are called the Faceless Men for a reason, and he saw Arya Stark with Cersei’s face. He still doesn’t know how to feel about the mess of events from the night before, so he feels nothing. It’s safest.

He accompanies Sansa with several of her generals. Yohn Royce, Edmure Tully, and a crannogman he does not know all move to stand away from Jaime. Then his brother appears and Jaime is no longer alone.

“Warden of the West, huh?” Jaime asks with a smile.

Tyrion flinches. “Don’t tell me you were hoping for it.”

“No, no. I think I am to be the lord consort to the Evenstar.”

“I didn’t know you fancied old men.”

“The _next_ Evenstar, you idiot.”

“And father to the one after that?”

“No doubt.”

Then their attention is arrested by the figure at the city gates. It is Cersei, but Arya wears her face differently. She lacks the air of disinterest, the subtle sneer. “I surrender the city,” Arya says in a voice that is _almost_ Cersei’s. It’s not the same to his ears, but he gathers it would fool anyone else.

“Gods,” Tyrion whispers. “She really did it. The babe?”

“Halfway to Tarth by now.”  
“How did it...” Tyrion turns to Jaime but something in his eyes must give Tyrion pause because Tyrion shakes his head. “Nevermind. I’ll ask your lady wife.”

Jaime almost corrects Tyrion. He and Brienne remain yet unmarried. But what does a septon’s blessing matter when the world is falling down around him? He was all but married to Cersei, and a septon’s blessing would not have made a wit of difference. It could not have saved her.

Cersei was a monster. He knows this. He might have always known, but he still remembers when he saw the smoking ruins of the Great Sept of Baelor. He had known without being told whose doing that was. He had known because he knew she had it in her-- a lioness fighting against obsolescence, tooth and nail. He shakes with remembering what she’d made him do in the time leading up to her death, and he shakes with remembering her the blood pouring from her throat, and he shakes with wanting her back in the world so he can rage at her or love her or mayhaps both.

It’s too much emotion, and he instantly longs for Brienne’s peaceful way, her confidence and calmness. Brienne is no lioness-- she is the ocean. When she storms it is an act of of the gods, an unrelenting force that feels neither malice nor desperation but thunders merely to restore balance to nature. He wants her so desperately in this moment that he thinks he may hate Sansa Stark for sending her away. He has been facing horrors on this own since he was six and ten, yet he cannot remember how to do it. He has let someone else into the deepest places of his heart, bared his fears and regrets and prides and agonies, and forgotten how to be alone. _Once King’s Landing is becalmed, I will go back to her and never be parted._

Tyrion is looking at him oddly, so he forces a smile. Because he has not told Tyrion, he says, “The babe was a girl. Alysanne Storm.”

Tyrion cringes. “She sounds like a farm maid from the Stormlands.”

“Good. That’s what I was aiming for.”

*****

BRIENNE

Brienne is welcomed as a nameless passenger onto a merchant vessel bound for Tarth. Once aboard, she realized something has changed. She feels the same, but people look at her differently. They do not see Brienne’s trousers or ugly face anymore. They do not even see the golden lion on her hip. Instead, they see a mother with a newborn babe.

On the very first morning, the captain’s wife reaches a hand into Brienne’s shirt to adjust Alys’s latch on the nipple. “I nursed eight children into adulthood, and your nipples will bleed with a poor latch,” she says. Nursing no longer hurts, so Brienne forgets to be embarrassed. The captain’s wife is helpful in other ways as well, teaching Brienne the best ways to wrap and sooth Alys. By the end of the six day voyage to Tarth, Brienne is beyond grateful for this woman. “How can I replay your service to me this sennight?” Brienne asks

The captain’s wife tuts and says, “Every mother was a first-time mother once. May the Stranger take the mother who hasn’t the time to help another.”  
Brienne knows then that she has entered into a secret society. She has lived in a world full of mothers all her life, never thinking herself like them, but now she _is_ them. They see themselves in her, and she sees herself in them, a mirror that reflects values and fears only.

As soon as she disembarks, though, things change. She gets a respite of a few moments before someone recognizes her. “Lady Brienne?” she hears a stall vendor gasp.

Soon, all eyes are turned to her, and she knows it is not her they see, but the babe in her arms. She doesn’t know what to tell them, so she lowers her eyes and walks up the hill through town.

It’s a long and steep walk, but she has never had difficulty with it. This time is different. It is still not difficult, not really, but she feels unable to fill her lungs, and her ankles are unsteady. She is still not visibly pregnant, and she is luckily no longer sick in her stomach, but every sennight she feels new changes to her body. She welcomes them, because they mean the babe is growing. She dreads them, because she does not understand this body any more. It feels as though it is not even hers.

At last she reaches the gates of Evenfall Hall, but word of her arrival got there first. The gates are flung open and she enters the courtyard to see her father rushing down the wide white stairs. He opens his arms to embrace his daughter, but then he sees what she holds.

“Now, who is this?” he says neutrally, and Brienne knows her father would feel naught but joy if she brought home her own bastard. She has not.

“Let us talk, father. There is much to tell.”

Her father leads her to his solar. Alys squirms and wakes and cries and Brienne knows this talk will be harder with a crying babe but she cannot get Alys to sooth. The girl is hungry. Brienne drops into a chair in the solar and opens her shirt, and Alys’s hungry mouth immediately finds its home.

Brienne looks up to see her father smiling fondly at the nursling. “Boy or girl?” he asks quietly.

“Girl,” Brienne answers. “Alysanne Storm.”

Her father looks touched, his eyes shining. “We will legitimize her, of course, and she can pass Tarth to her heirs.”

Brienne watches the helpless babe and knows that after she speaks, her father will never again love Alys the way he does in this moment. She wants to savor this pause, but she knows it is her duty to speak.

“The babe is not mine.”

Her father looks like someone slapped him. “Is my only child and heir now playing wet nurse? Surely we can find one.” He moves to stand.

Brienne interrupts his thoughts. “The babe belongs to the man who will be my lord husband. I’ve agreed to raise her in our household, along with… my babe.”

Her father freezes.

“I’m with child, father. And the man who made me so wants to marry me. _Wants_ to.”

“Then why is he not here?”

“Much has happened in the Capitol in the past days,” Brienne answers. “Have you had news?”

“Aye, Maester Coelum received a raven yesterday from King’s Landing. Queen Cersei surrendered the city and was later found murdered, her babe cut out of her. King Jon took the city and married Sansa Stark of Winterfell.”

Brienne nods. “As you know, I was sworn to Queen Sansa. She released me from her service with a charge to be happy, and wishes I marry the man I love. My betrothed has been asked by Queen Sansa to help King Jon form a counsel. When the city is calm, he will come.”

Her father sits and nods. “An adviser to the King, then. You must have made a good match. I’m glad to know your intended is a noble man, and honorable, since you have chosen him. Is he a Northerner then?”

Her heart hammers in her chest. She knows what’s coming next. She shakes her head. _No,_ she thinks, _he hates the North._ Her lips flex in a smile of their own accord.

“Who, then, is this lord to whom I shall entrust my island when I am gone? How honorable can he be if he has made a bastard, Brienne?”

She fills her lungs as well as she is able. “You must promise me first. I need your word that you will not judge the babe for the fault of her parents. King Jon was raised a bastard in Winterfell, and Queen Sansa tells me his life was not easy. I love this babe, though she isn’t mine, and I don’t want her to know hardship. I want her to be loved and sheltered. You may hate my choice of husband, and you may hate my husband. He is strong enough to endure it. But I will not have you hate an innocent babe.”

Her father’s face is pained. “I would never hate a babe for the dishonor of its father. But I wonder why you would want to marry someone so hateful.”

Brienne feels herself flinch at the word, a memory of the courtyard of Winterfell bubbling to the surface unwanted. “I would marry him because I love him and he loves me.”

Her father is watching her with careful eyes. “You have not yet told me his name. I have scarce seen you frightened, daughter, but if I am not much mistaken, you feel so now. Does my judgment of your husband terrify you so?”

She looks down at the babe on her breast. _I will never hide this, nor will I let others convince me to feel a shame I don’t feel._ She looks up. “My betrothed is Ser Jaime Lannister, late of--”

Her father shoots to his feet, but she keeps looking ahead. “-- the Kingsguard and of Casterly Rock. The babe I hold in my arms was cut from Queen Cersei and fathered by Ser Jaime.” She shifts her eyes to her father’s, holding them. “Now she is mine.”

“No,” he states. “Absolutely not. I will not turn my island over to the Lannisters, and I will not turn my daughter over to the Kingslayer.” He begins to pace. “You have not yet married him. That is good. We’ll legitimize your babe and it will inherit Tarth. As for this other.” He grimaces at Alys. “It is an abomination against gods and men. We will give it to the sea.”

Now Brienne is on her feet. “If you throw her into the sea, you throw me and my unborn babe as well. You gave your word she would not be harmed.”

Lord Selwyn squeezes his eyes shut. “Why do you seek to vex me, Brienne? I love you dearly, but can you not see that the Kingslayer is using you? You are sweet and trusting and he will let you raise this...”-- he waves at Alys-- “unholy child, until he can take over Tarth.”

“Think!” Brienne answers him. “He could have _Casterly Rock_. Why would he lie with me and get a child on me for this island? I know you think it the most beautiful place in the world, as do I, but it has few resources and less strategic importance. It would never be worth the attentions of the Lion of Lannister. You have grown too used to dealing with the Estermonts and Conningtons. Ser Jaime helped us slay his sister and overthrow the city. He is trusted by the King and Queen. He could have any amount of power or wealth he wants. And what he _wants_ is a home on Tarth, with me, and the chance to raise his own children.”

“Then why is he not here?”

“Queen Sansa engaged him for his expertise on the city of King’s Landing. Once his work in the Capitol is complete, he will sail for Tarth.”

Her father seems to consider her words for a very long time. Then he says, “I find it unlikely that we should ever see the Kingslayer. As you say, he could have money, power, and women in the Capitol. I love you dearly, Brienne, but a man like him does not choose a woman like you when he could have any in the world. I think it most likely he will find someone else. I also think that best. I will let you keep this Alys Storm. I gave my word. Now please, let me be. This conversation has given me a headache.”

Brienne storms to her own room, thinking that the conversation could certainly have gone worse. Her father is a man of his word, and no harm will come to Alys from his hand. The household, on the other hand... She is not ashamed, but she is afraid for Alys. Queen Cersei was much hated on Tarth. Tarth had held to Robert and then to Renly. Its people believed Stannis’s letter about Cersei’s children long before Ser Jaime had confessed it to her. Perhaps for now, she could keep Alys’s parentage a secret.

That evening, a woman Brienne’s age comes to her rooms introducing herself as Kelsa. She has been employed by the Evenstar as a nursemaid for Lady Brienne’s babe. She is quiet and honest and Brienne likes her immediately. Kelsa also tells Brienne of the nursery being set up down the hall, and together they walk there. When Alys fusses, Kelsa volunteers to nurse her.

“I rather like nursing her,” Brienne confesses.

“Oh, I understand that milady,” Kelsa says with a sad smile. “I lost my youngest, which is why I’m here. Or I’d be home nursing him.”

“I’m so sorry,” Brienne says, and she truly is.

Kelsa sighs heavily. “Well, I’m sure you will want a break at some point. The promise of sleep will lure you.” Kelsa smiles knowingly, and Brienne once again understands that her experience is mirrored by women all over the world every day. Alys wakes to nurse so often during the night that Brienne feels she can barely stay awake most days. The promise of sleep sounds alluring indeed.

“Yes,” Brienne decides, trusting this woman. “I will engage your help in the nights, and I will see to my daughter during the day.”

Kelsa nods. “In that case, milady, do you mind if I spend some days with my family? I have four, all boys.” She laughs as though she has made a joke.

“Not at all,” Brienne acquiesces.

Kelsa dismisses herself, and Brienne sits in the chair in the nursery to once again nurse a fussy babe.

*****

TYRION

As time passes in the Capitol, Jaime grows increasingly on edge. He cuts meetings short and skips others. His babe must be nearing four moons now, and the one in Brienne growing as well, and they can all feel it. Tyrion tries to speak to Queen Sansa about it, but she dismisses him, simply reiterating that Jaime’s help is needed here.

And he is helpful, though whether he has any unique talents others do not have, Tyrion is less sure. He wonders if Sansa isn’t feeling at least a bit spiteful.

Soon, though, the council is set, rebuilding of the Sept has commenced, and Wardens for all corners have been named. Arya Stark even marries Gendry Baratheon. Spring is all around, with marriages happening daily, and he thinks mayhaps it will catch him as well. He may be Warden of the West, but ladies do not look at him as they do other men. He resents it.

At last, there is no pretense upon which to detain Jaime in King’s Landing, and Queen Sansa reluctantly dismisses him to “do as he please,” as if she does not know what he intends to do.

*****

JAIME

Jaime has never been to Tarth, not once. He takes with him four trusted Lannister men from King’s Landing-- on loan from Tyrion-- and charters a ship. Once it lands at the docks, he does not have to guess long where he will find Brienne. There is a long and winding hill adorned with shops and homes, and at the top sits a tall white building. From its battlements fly the banners of Tarth, blue and pink rippling in the spring sun. His men buy five horses and a donkey, and he, his baggage, and his men ride up the hill to Evenfall Hall, the seat of the Evenstar.

At the gate, two bored guards look up. He is well dressed and with Lannister soldiers. “My lord?” they ask, sharing a look between them that Jaime cannot discern. “Who calls on the Evenstar?” 

He doesn’t know whether he is disappointed they do not know him or not. If anything, he is disappointed that he has not been expected. He wonders if there is a reason, and considers hiding his identity, but one of the men is already staring at his golden hand. He raises it. “Tell your lady that her knight has come to claim her.”

One guard steps backwards. “Y-y-es ser, Lord Jaime, ser.” He runs away. The other, Jaime notices, keeps his hand on his sword and his eye trained on the Lannister men. Jaime reminds himself he will be their lord one day. He will have an uphill battle to earn their trust.

And then he hears the call. A soldier inside is yelling, “Open the gate!” Another, closer, repeats the cry. “Open the gate!” The solid stone doors of the keep are cranked open and Jaime is treated to the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. Brienne, in trousers and a loose tunic and visibly heavy with child is heaving herself down a set of wide white stone stairs. Jaime rushes forward. Luckily no one tries to stab him for his impertinence since he doesn’t think he could hold himself back if he tried. And then she is in his arms and he is kissing her. When they part, he wraps his arms around her and lifts her off the ground. He feels as though he has never belonged anywhere more than here, on this small island with a dozen guards gaping at him, in the arms of his lady, her body full of new life. But one thing is missing.

“Alys?” Jaime asks, fear winding up his spine.

Brienne smiles. “Sleeping.”

He grins. “Then may I suggest we do the same, my lady?” He turns to his men, but cannot even bother commanding them. He wants his lady to himself immediately, so he follows her up the stairs and into the rest of his life.


	4. Tarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending you all deserve, but not without facing the consequences of things they have endured. Includes PTSD from earlier dubcon, and some small resulting h/c.

JAIME

Jaime wants nothing more than to follow Brienne to her room and spend time re-learning her new body, the one that holds his babe. Brienne seems to be thinking the same thing. She hurries along gray stone corridors strewn with sunlight from high windows. Jaime follows. Breathlessly she tells Jaime her father is out and won’t be back until supper. They are blissfully alone.

She stops and opens a door for him. He enters her bedroom, which is gray and stone and sparse. He immediately closes the door and begins to tug off her clothes. She helps. When she is bare to him, he cradles one of her breasts. They had been little more than plums once, but now hang heavy and ripe as pomegranates. He kisses one nipple tenderly and she gasps, and then milk begins to drip from it. He laps at it greedily, and in response, Brienne begins pulling at his clothes. He lets her disrobe him, lets her see his need standing tall for her. _For you, for you my lady._ He pulls her to her bed and rubs a hand over her belly, but if the babe inside is awake, it does not let its father know. He settles her back and moves to the place between her legs, her honey sweetness. He wants to drink from this fount of the mother’s mercy and know his sins absolved. He pushes her legs open and dips his tongue into her, looking over her full womb, and something awful happens.

This moment would resurface in his nightmares for years to come. He is reminded of Cersei’s wet cunt and her full womb and the taste of Euron Greyjoy’s spend and he begins to shake. He kisses the inside of his lady’s thigh to try and hide it, but he cannot. He thinks he may lose his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I am tired from my journey.” His excuse doesn’t fool her, he can see it in her eyes, but she is gracious and does not push him.

Suddenly, there is a knock on the door. “Milady,” a soft voice calls through the thick wood. And then, to Jaime’s horror, the door opens. Whoever was on the other side shrieks softly and closes it again. “I-- I’m sorry, milady, I didn’t. I just--”

“It’s fine, Kelsa,” Brienne calls back. “I’ll be right there.”

The distraction has at least stopped Jaime’s tremors and he almost laughs with relief. 

Her smile is tense as she says, “That was the nursemaid Kelsa. She comes to get me when Alys wakes so I can nurse her. Kelsa has been invaluable to me.”

The prospect of seeing Alys cheers Jaime. “Can she bring Alys here?”

Brienne is standing and pulling her clothes back on. “I will go and get her.” Something is clearly troubling Brienne, but Jaime is himself troubled by what just happened, so he won’t ask. Brienne nods to herself, and exits the room.

*****

BRIENNE

Kelsa is standing in the hallway, red in the face and looking upset. Brienne sees Kelsa’s hands knotted in front of her.

“My lady, I am so sorry--”

Brienne wraps her hands around Kelsa’s tiny ones. “My betrothed has come home.” She tries to smile but has the feeling it has gone wrong.

“Why do you not seem happy?” Kelsa asks.

“Let us walk,” Brienne answers, steering them towards the nursery. Brienne opens the door and both of them enter the room. Sure enough, there is Alys, lying on her back and kicking her legs and gurgling, trying to eat her hand-- a sign of her hunger.

Brienne steels herself. “I am going to marry my betrothed and he will become Lord of Tarth after my father. His children will inherit this island.”

Kelsa laughs nervously. “That’s generally what betrothed means, yes.”

Brienne picks up the babe but does not offer her breast. She is using Alys as a shield for this conversation. “You are smart. You no doubt know Alys is not mine.”

Kelsa smiles sweetly. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about it, but I did know, yes. You’re, what, six moons along? And she is naught but three moons old.”

“She is my betrothed’s child.”

“A bastard?”

Brienne nods.

“Kind of you to take her in.”

Brienne nods again.

“Why do you not seem happy that your betrothed is here, milady? Does he hurt you?”

Brienne’s eyes snapped to Kelsa’s. “No, never.” _Once, on a bridge, but we were enemies then. He respected me enough to fight me as an equal, not as a woman._ “I… You will know all soon enough. Come.”

Brienne carries Alys back to her room, Kelsa trailing behind. Brienne opens the door a crack and sees that Jaime is once again dressed and just now fastening on his golden hand. Through the crack she says to him, “There’s someone you want to meet.”

His turns and his eyes light when he sees the babe in her arms. He scrambles to his feet. Brienne can feel her face stretch into a huge smile as she deposits Alys into Jaime’s hands. He scrambles for a moment, and she helps him discover-- for the first time in his life-- how to hold his own babe.

Now, while Jaime is thoroughly distracted and unarmingly delighted by his hungry daughter, Brienne opens the door and pulls Kelsa into the room. At first Kelsa is all gentle smiles, and then she sees it: the golden hand. She gasps. Jaime looks up. Brienne is ready.

“Jaime,” she says, “This is Kelsa, Alys’s nursemaid. Kelsa, Alys’s father, Ser Jaime Lannister.”

Jaime smiles brightly, and Brienne doesn’t think anyone could distrust a man who smiles like that, regardless of his name. But Kelsa looks unimpressed. Then Jaime passes the babe-- so delicately-- back to Brienne and rushes to Kelsa. Kelsa actually backs away. _She thinks he is going to attack her._ Jaime only lifts her hand to his lips, though. “Thank you for helping my lady with the babe while I was away. She tells me you have been invaluable.”

Brienne sees the warm blush climb Kelsa’s cheeks. _If Jaime kisses the hand of every woman on this island, he would make allies of them all-- and enemies of their husbands._ Suddenly, seeing him with lovely petite Kelsa, Brienne was reminded that Jaime could hardly bear to touch her. Something had gone terribly wrong. _Perhaps he is not attracted to me now that I am with child. But he found it more alluring, not less so, on the road South._

Alys distracts her. The babe smells milk nearby, and she is tugging at Brienne’s tunic. “Thank you Kelsa, that will be all until this evening.”

Kelsa curtsies primly and closes the door behind her, and Brienne loosens her tunic and sits, snuggling the babe at her breast. Alys immediately holds Brienne’s breast in both fists and gulps milk. Brienne feels only joy when she looks at Alys’s wide blue eyes.

“Her eyes look like yours,” Jaime says quietly. _Perhaps he has forgotten I am not this child’s mother._

“Kelsa tells me all children are born with the same eyes. They will turn green in time.” For what other color could they be?

Jaime sits stiffly and watches her nurse. When Alys is done, Brienne hands her to Jaime. “I will leave you two alone for a bit. You have some catching up to do. I’ll send Alys to change her-- she will pass a movement in about a quarter of an hour.” Brienne leaves the room and sucks in the fresh air of the hallway. She feels such tension around Jaime. Their movements no longer come easily. And Cersei is always there between them. Perhaps this has all been a mistake.

Brienne will not cry about it though. If Jaime decides to leave, that is his choice. Her father, at least, would be overjoyed. The pain that sits behind her breastbone is the understanding that she has no claim to Alys, and he would take her with him.

She finds Kelsa in the nursery, obsessively refolding clothes. Kelsa jumps when the door opens and gasps, “Oh, my lady, it’s you.”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“Sorry, I… I just… Look, I like to think I’m discrete, but this isn’t a secret you can keep. Does your Lord father know about this?”

“I have no secrets from my father, nor any desire to keep Ser Jaime a secret.”

“But Alys--” Kelsa hisses. “Is she… I mean to say, who could the mother be? Please tell me she’s a tavern whore, a camp follower--”

“She was a queen,” Brienne answers.

Kelsa shuts her eyes slowly, breathes in, and nods. “I thought as much.”

“I imagine you will no longer wish to care for her?”

Kelsa whips her head back and forth. “I love her, Lady Brienne. Please don’t send me away. I won’t say anything to anyone. I just worry about what others will say, because they will figure it out eventually.”

Brienne nods. “They will, yes. But she is easy to love.” Brienne feels herself smiling fondly.

“She is, milady.”

“And so, life will go on for us and for our island. In time, the people will grow used to this, they will grow used to Jaime. I expect there will be some that never trust him, but...” She touches her belly, “He will father their heir, if he has not already.”

“I understand, milady, but what will you do about telling people?”

“You can let my father, Ser Jaime, and I worry about that. You should worry about changing Alys’s diaper.”

Kelsa smiles softly, but there is something nervous in it. _Is she afraid?_

“Come,” Brienne says, “let me walk you back.”

*****

JAIME

Kelsa changes Alys while Brienne looks on from the door. When Kelsa leaves again, Brienne turns to go. “Stay, please,” Jaime says quietly.

Brienne considers for a moment, and then nods and sits by the empty hearth. Jaime lays his daughter on the bed and tickles her. Occasionally she smiles widely, and when she does, it is like the rainbow after a storm. It’s breathtaking.

“Kelsa knows,” Brienne says quietly.

Jaime looks up.

“She already knew I could not have borne Alys and yet carry this one.” She touches her belly fondly. “And once she saw you...”

He nods. She does not have to finish the sentence.

“Cersei was not well liked on Tarth,” Brienne adds.

Jaime snorts. “Cersei was not well liked anywhere in the world.”

“We will have to determine a strategy.”

“A strategy to keep the people of Tarth from mutiny when they learn you have invited the Kingslayer to their island?” He knows he sounds bitter. He’s feeling too old to keep fighting his own reputation.

“We will need to convince my father first,” she says.

Jaime closes his eyes and sighs. Then he re-opens them. “Let’s not talk politics yet. Is Kelsa still around? I love Alys, but I’m here for _you_. Let’s spar. The sound of your steel on mine will ring so sweet.”

“I cannot spar with steel. My armor no longer fits and I can’t risk injury. We could spar with blunt blades.”

“Blunt blades,” Jaime mocks. “We have Valyrian steel. Your sword and mine desire each other, do you not feel it? I won’t strike your belly.”

“I gave my father my word I would not spar with true steel nor ride on rough ground until after I have this babe.”

“You sound like a woman,” he groans, keenly disappointed and mildly teasing.

She evidently does not know he is teasing, because she stands abruptly. “If I am a woman, it is because you have made me one, ser. If you do not want to bed me now that I am heavy with child, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

He stands, leaving Alys on the bed. “You asked me for an heir to this tiny island. Do you remember asking me to spill in you?”

“If you think the island too inconsequential, you need not stay. And as you do not want a child, I will kindly take mine back.” She sweeps Alys up and leaves the room. The door slams behind her.

Jaime swears under his breath. What is happening? He could have sparred with blunt blades or rode on flat ground or done absolutely nothing with her, and he _did_ want the child. _Both_ of them. More of them, in fact. And he desperately wants to bed her. _Desperately_. He just feels that he no longer knows how. He does not know how to touch her and not remember Cersei forcing him to do things he would rather not. He curses once more and sinks down onto Brienne’s bed. She will have to come back eventually. This is her room.

Hours pass, and Jaime dozes until he is woken by a knock on the door.

“Milady?” A voice calls. “Your father has heard that Lord Jaime Lannister arrived today, and would like to speak to you forthwith.”

Jaime opens the door, and the servant there nearly jumps backwards.

“I will see Lord Selwyn now,” Jaime says.

“Uh… I was looking for Lady Brienne.” She tries to look behind him, so he blocks the door more thoroughly.

“Lord Selwyn was looking to speak to Lady Brienne about me. You said so yourself. Where might I find him?”

The servant hesitates and then nods. “Right this way milord.”

As he follows the servant, Jaime is now able to see the inside of Evenfall Hall in more detail. The hallways are tall at nearly thirty feet high. The stone is light and smooth. There are whole walls of stained glass windows throwing rainbow shadows across the halls. The colorless windows are leaded and full of open places, a window lacework, through which a stiff ocean breeze blows. This same breeze whistles quietly around corridors. The air is cool. Everything is silver-gray or rainbow hues. It is the opposite of the Casterly Rock’s hot yellow stone. He can see why Brienne carries a natural peace about her; this place is peaceful to its core.

It is also small. In mere moments, he is at Lord Selwyn’s solar. The servant opens the door. “Lord Jaime Lannister, milord,” she says.

Selwyn starts and looks up, his blue eyes meeting Jaime’s. 

“Leave us,” Lord Selwyn says, his voice forceful and angry. The man before Jaime is almost a mirror of Brienne. He is tall with white hair and beard, though bald on the top of his head. He has striking blue eyes and oversize teeth. _Did she take anything of her mother’s?_ Lord Selwyn, like Jaime’s own father, lost a wife in the birthing bed. For the first time, fear strikes Jaime that he may lose Brienne to childbirth. He had been too young and stupid to fear losing Cersei when she had birthed Joffrey. Now he knows what loss feels like, and he doesn’t think he can bear to lose Brienne. _Was that what father felt when mother died?_

“I asked for my daughter,” Lord Selwyn says. “Yet _you_ are here instead.” The words drip with disdain.

Jaime must be on his best behavior. He will charm Lord Selwyn with courtesy. He will show he is a knight and a lord.

Jaime bows. “My lord, when I heard you had returned I sought an audience immediately.” _Not a lie_ , he reminds himself. “I have come to ask you for your daughter’s hand.” It feels odd to act as though Brienne is a maiden of ten and six and not heavy with his child.

Lord Selwyn sits back in his chair. Jaime remains standing, not having been given leave to sit. It was a power play his own father was fond of.

At length, Lord Selwyn speaks again. “Do not speak to me as though you intend to do right by my daughter. You have put a bastard in her and saddled her with another bastard besides-- one born of an unholy union. You have no notion of loyalty, nor honor. Any respect others give you, you have bought. You will find Lannister gold cannot buy loyalty on Tarth.”

Jaime forces himself to remain polite. “And yet, your daughter respects me and believes me loyal and honorable. I gave her a priceless sword and good armor, ‘tis true. Do you mean to imply that your daughter’s good opinion can be so easily bought?”

Lord Selwyn turned red in the face. _Another thing Brienne inherited from him._ “All here know that Brienne’s good opinion is not easily earned, and never for sale.”

“So you admit that I have earned her?”

“I admit that you have tricked her.”

“Is she so easily fooled by the likes of me?”

“I do not know what tricks you played on her, Kingslayer. She has a maiden’s heart, and might have been overcome by the attentions of a handsome man.”

 _She has a maiden’s heart indeed._ “She liked me less when the realm considered me handsome. She came to trust me only after I was less a hand, and half dead besides. Why do you imagine I would want to trick her? For _Tarth_? Because of her overwhelming beauty?”

“So you admit you find her homely!”

“I admit that there are a thousand girls more beautiful than she probably on your island alone. I have already loved the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. I chose Brienne over her. I have no need for beauty.”

“Power, then,” Lord Selwyn states. “Your brother inherited Casterly Rock, which left you with nothing.”

Jaime can hardly believe what he is hearing. “Tarth holds no strategic importance, and were it power I wanted, I could have it. Seven hells, I thought Queen Sansa was trying to rope me in as Master of War. I want nothing less than power.”

Selwyn sighs deeply. “Lannister. I just want you gone. Is it money, is that what you want?”

Jaime doesn’t even feel he has to answer this. He is a lion of the Rock.

Finally, Selwyn throws up his hands. “What, then?”

“Your daughter. I am… I am _in love_ with her. There is nothing you can offer to alleviate my pain, short of offering me your daughter.”

“Why should I care about your pain?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. But she is also in love with me, or so I have deluded myself. She _asked_ me to give her an heir. She asked me to stay with her. For her sake, then. Does she not deserve every happiness?”

Selwyn’s face looks shadowed and gaunt. “I mislike you and mistrust you, yet I find your arguments hard to fault, Kingslayer. She does seem entirely taken by you, and from here you seem equally taken by her. It makes little sense to me.”

“You can’t choose who you love,” Jaime answers.

“I don’t know what you have done to gain her trust, but her good word is better than gold, on Tarth. The fact that she trusts you will go far with the smallfolk.”

Jaime felt a sunburst in his chest. “Is that a yes, then?”

“If you can give me a sennight to grow used to the idea, and you prove that you can behave as a gentleman in my household, I will let you marry Brienne. But let me be clear. She will inherit my position of power. You will not. You claim to want nothing less than power.”

“I didn’t lie,” Jaime counters. “I told my brother my plan was to become Lord Consort to the next Evenstar.”

Lord Selwyn nods. “Ask me again in a sennight.”

Jaime agrees with a bow and turns to leave.

“One more thing, Kingslayer,” Lord Selwyn calls after him. “I want to say… well, you are not what I expected.”

Jaime smiles. “I try to keep others’ expectations low, so I can continually exceed them.”

He gets lost twice trying to find his way back to Brienne’s rooms. One of those times, he ends up running into a servant bringing up a plate of supper for her, so he follows behind. To his surprise, the supper goes to the nursery instead. He follows the servant in and sees Brienne asleep in the chair. The servant goes to wake her, but Jaime waves the servant away and closes the door. Alys is asleep in Brienne’s arms. He tries to take the babe away, but Brienne jerks awake at the movement. She clutches Alys to her.

“Is it not enough for you to leave? Would you also take the babe?”

Jaime is shocked and confused for a moment, until he understands that Brienne believes him to be stealing away with Alys. _She expects me to leave, and that’s because I did, once. I have broken her trust._

Jaime settles Alys back into Brienne’s arms and gestures to the plate of food on a nearby table. “I was waking you to eat.”

Brienne eyes him warily.

“Brienne...” He doesn’t know how to speak, how to say these things, but he knows he must. “I am not leaving. I know I left before, but we had made no promises then. I am promising you now, I am not leaving. You have my word.”

“What you said--” her eyes are sharp and angry and he has to think back to what he said. It was a moment of anger and none of it is clear in his head.

He kneels before her. “I want you. And I want the babe within you. I want the life you are offering me.”

“But what about… before when you--” Alys squirms and Brienne opens her shirt for Alys to nurse. Then she takes a deep breath and says, “If you want to marry but not lie together as a married couple, I understand. I know I am not… what most men would want.”

 _Fuck_. “I am not most men. I want you.” She begins to interrupt, but he speaks forcefully over her. “I _do_.”

“Earlier---”

“Oh _fuck_ earlier.” Jaime sighs and stands, pacing.

“It seemed--”

“I know what it seemed,” Jaime interrupts, looking out of the window to the town below and the seaside further down. Brienne doesn’t argue for once, and Jaime thinks, if he keeps looking away, maybe he can explain. “When I was in the Red Keep with Cersei--”

“I know you had to earn her trust--”

“Let me speak, dammit!” Jaime doesn’t mean to be so forceful, and he knows he has been interrupting her as much as she has him, but he feels fear stir in his belly and he needs to speak before he loses his nerve. _You are not a craven_ , he reminds himself. “In the Red Keep, Cersei requested I do certain things… She said if I didn’t she would have me thrown back into the Black Cells and our plan might fail in that case, so I did as she asked.” He closes his eyes. “She wanted me to… clean Euron’s spend from her, at first. She was not kind.” He hears Brienne’s sharp intake of breath and opens his eyes to see the blue waters of Tarth below. “Later, when she started coming at night, she asked me… she wanted things to be the way they had been before. Before you.” He turns to look at her. He and Brienne speak truths to each other. They always have. Hard truths, soft truths, every kind, and he won’t deny her the truth now. “It’s unforgivable, but for a moment between your legs, it was Cersei I saw, and I felt---”

He doesn’t get to finish, because Brienne has stood and flung one arm around him. The other holds his daughter. _Their_ daughter. That’s what he wants to do-- to erase Cersei, even though he knows she will always be in his heart. He holds her tightly and feels himself begin once again to tremble.

“Jaime,” she whispers, and the sound is everything.

“I just need time,” he whispers back, praying it is not a lie. He kisses her shoulder and rubs her back with this hand. “Please believe I am here to stay. I know I broke that trust, but… your father has returned and as soon as I heard I went to him to ask him for your hand.”

Brienne frowns, her split bottom lip jutting towards him. “I expect he refused.”

Jaime smiles brashly. “He did _not_ refuse. He has given me a sennight to prove I am not a lout or a lecher before he will agree. I suspect he wants to see with his own eyes that this is a match made for love and not for any hidden purpose. He accused me of all manner of hidden purposes,” Jaime laughs.

Brienne laughs as well, and the sound warms Jaime’s heart. “He said much the same to me. That you may want the power Tarth affords you or, well...”

“No, no,” he says quietly, “I have come to steal something far more precious than Tarth from the Evenstar: his daughter.”

“You cannot steal what is already yours,” she answers, and her cheeks flood with color. She is still shy with him. Her innocence never ceases to amaze him.

“We could dine with your father,” Jaime suggests. “We could show him two besotted fools.”

She blushes again. “If Queen Sansa is to be believed, we could scarce show him anything different. She said we were terribly obvious in Winterfell.”

Jaime grins. “Were we? I felt we were being discrete. But be believed, my lady, I fully intend to be _terribly obvious_ now.”

“Nothing scandalous,” Brienne scolds.

Jaime scoops Alys from Brienne’s arms. “Where can we find Kelsa? I am eager to dine with your father and to discover what you consider too scandalous for his company.”

“Jaime.” It is once again scolding, but her cheeks burn a deep rose. And in her face he sees the sigil of Tarth-- her calm moon eyes in blue, her hot sunburst cheeks in pink. Day and night, not opposites, but parts of a whole. The maiden and the warrior.

“What are your house words?” Suddenly, Jaime realizes he does not know, and wonders how that can be.

She takes Alys from him and sets her down in the cradle. Turning to him with measured purpose she answers, “A light in the darkness.”

A light indeed. In a sennight, when Lord Selwyn gives him leave, he will invite all of Tarth to their wedding to see their love and he hopes, by that path, to earn the trust of this island of light. He moves to her and reaches up, meeting her mouth with his. He hopes the kiss promises everything he cannot say. He would give her the moon and sun, but she already owns them. All he has left to give is the despised man that he is, but this he will gladly lay at her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is completed but there will be short stories set in this universe coming, and likely entirely out of order. For me at least, this is the universe in which I now live (truly-- I did not watch the last two episodes).
> 
> Please comment on J/B fics. Not just mine. I think we as shippers need to make a pact to be as encouraging of each other's artwork at this time as possible.


End file.
